Poetry by SK Grout

Descriptive image of a Newton's Cradle

Beethoven dreamed his symphonies faster, but nobody believed 
the scratchings of his pen. Was the timing rod too heavy? 

Was each audience too onerous in their demands for order? 
Why is it that when I think about sparrows, all I see are photographs 

from memory: birds strung out on catgut, bodies trapped in swinging. 
Why is it that when I think about names, I will never trust mine to a queen.

When I read my friend’s WhatsApp messages, my feelings beat toward
her epicurean joy, my stale depression. The beloved wears shirts, ties 

and shaves hairs, never circling the pronoun. I belong in crevaces between
technologies of time travel. More than one truth can exist at once.

I metronome my heart between bad days and better, lick the plate 
for cinnamon sugar, do not cut back the rambler rose that taps at my window. 

The moon, and Jupiter, and Saturn, are in the sky tonight and I just have 
to stand still enough to witness them.

SK Grout (she/they) grew up in Aotearoa New Zealand, lived in Germany and now splits her time between London and Auckland Tāmaki Makaurau. She is the author of “What love would smell like” (forthcoming, V Press). She holds a post-graduate degree in creative writing from City, University of London and is a Feedback Editor for Tinderbox Poetry. In 2020, she placed second in the Ambit Poetry Competition. Her work also appears in Cordite Poetry Review, dialogist, Finished Creatures, Glass, Parentheses Journal and elsewhere. More information:

Image by Gustavo Rezende from Pixabay 

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